


Sympathy, from the Devil

by Sam_Seven



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: (I mean... Is it really one-sided?), (and a weird one), Batjokes, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Gloomy Gotham is gloomy, Heavy inspiration from Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, M/M, Own translation from French
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Seven/pseuds/Sam_Seven
Summary: In a card game, the joker is a special card that can turn a situation around and save a player. And even Gotham's Joker can be an advantage in a cursed city.Moodboard on Tumblr
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne (one-sided), Joker/Harleen Quinzel (mentioned), Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel (mentioned)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. Old habits

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Sympathy, from the Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591505) by [Sam_Seven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Seven/pseuds/Sam_Seven). 



> **Wait! This fic was translated by myself, a non English speaker.**
> 
> Before you ‘suggest’ me to find and ask for a beta-reader to correct my fic, let me suggest you to shut the hell up.
> 
> I’m learning English since 15 years (maybe more), but I’ve never lived in an English speaking country and I only speak English on the web. I do my best when I translate my own works (instead of writing everything I want on French), I spent a lot of time on it. I ask for beta-readers, but it’s a lot of work and time and I can understand they’re very rare.  
> So don’t suggest to find a beta-reader: suggest to be a beta-reader, or learn French and read the French version (this is my native langage and I guarantee you: 0 mistake, I’m a beast for it), or paste it into an online translator, okay?  
> And learn a new langage for 15 years and write a story, be my guest. Seriously.
> 
> Readers who comment ‘DuH, i SuGgEsT yOu To FiNd A bEtA-rEaDeR’ are morons who discourage authors who just want to learn and try. So don’t write it in your comment, because you can already know my answer: be my beta-reader or fuck you.
> 
> Seriously, I don’t want to sound agressive, but those kind of comments almost made me give up writing in English. I couldn’t share my writings with more people because I felt ashamed.
> 
> Note about this fic now: this story was meant to take place long before the first Arkham game, but it ends very differently, so consider I only took inspiration from the design of some characters and there are a lot of references to Batman comics, especially the masterpiece I fell in love with: Arkham Asylum by Grant Morrison and Dave McKean.
> 
> So I apologize to the fans of the Mad Hatter, I have absolutely nothing against this character (on the contrary!), but his pathologies are more disturbing in the comics (much more than in the game or the cartoon in fact) and of course, what would be the universe of Batman without a dark atmosphere?
> 
> But don’t worry: the Joker is there to cheer you up (?).
> 
> Now, (try to) enjoy!

“It’s a silent shriek without a sound

Well he's coming soon to your small town

He's searching for something he won't find

He's a mad, mad man with a mad, mad mind

Like an animal out of his den

You better hide your money better hide your children

You can’t keep your fear at bay

Cause the madman roams these streets today

Oh, the madman cometh!”

The Madman – The White Buffalo

« Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing. »

Ken Kesey, _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_

Maya Dominguez held the form out to her customer.

When she sat at her counter, the day could begin, and she was there for only twenty minutes, Maya was serving her fifth customer. Could be a long Thursday…

“Fill up the form, please. I also need your ID.”

While she tried to cover up a yawn, her throat swelling, she gave a white pen, marked with the name of the bank, to mister White. He thanked her.

He was wearing a black hat, some sort of fedora with a very large brim and it was dripping because of the heavy rain. It was falling since four days already. From where she was, Maya noticed, under the hat, wet lips. Wet red lips.

The man began searching in his pockets of his long dark coat.

“What a shame! Unfortunately, I forgot my ID…” The tip of his forefinger pushed the brim up.

The raw light above the counter brightened up the green shirt, the golden bow-tie at the bottom of a strong neck where two tendons were visible… still, the light seemed unable to revive the pasty, almost dead-like complexion.

“… But oh well, my face is so infamous, I guess you have no doubt about my name?”

Everything ceased to exist: the roughness of the counter, the hammering of the rain against the windows, even the ludicrous face of the Joker — he looked like he escaped from a scary tale —, everything, except the dark barrel that now directed Maya Dominguez’s whole existence.

In a measured silence, the fake customers around started imitating the Joker so, soon, they could hold the bank staff hostage. It did not matter that some of Maya’s colleagues were tall and strong: with the menace, they withered like dry flowers and curled up, hands upon their head.

Quickly, Maya counted about fifteen criminals and only four true customers, poor victims in this music-less orchestra. A criminal choreography.

The moisture that veiled Maya Dominguez’s eyes began to drop silently, but the heaviness of the first tear caught the Joker’s attention:

“Oh, no, no, no, no, dear! Don’t cry! Not now! You do know you still have a chance to survive, right?”

It was true: despite its austere appearance, Gotham was the city of a fairy tale and, as in all fairy tale cities, a valiant knight might come around.

Like a child looking for adventures, the Clown Prince of Crime liked to turn into a dragon, a witch, an ogre or a demon, and set up plans that had no other goal than a violent confrontation with the hero of this corrupted kingdom.

Why precisely this morning? Had he seen a bat fleeing in the distance, which had reminded him of the existence of his sworn enemy? Not really.

Although it was the fault of a mammal! The Joker had thought he felt one of his mental bats hitting the arch of his sick skull, because unfortunately, his head was full of them: bats, hundreds of bats, thousands of bats, excited and violent, black with giant wings, monstrous with their white eyes and their deep timbre.

One might say the date and time of this morning attack had been decided by chance, but with the Joker, chance was nothing but a cocktail of whims and caprices.

The henchmen, as imposing as wrestlers, had scowling faces that circus make-up could not brighten up. Weapons pointed at hostages were a growing threat, as the lure of money made some people’s guts itch, but the Joker had made it clear: the first one who broke into a safe could say goodbye to his eyes and his tongue.

Only one safe would be opened today, and that would be only for a deposit.

“Billy! Check the records and see when little Eddie came by.” Joker ordered to one of the men who had revealed a clown face under his hood. “He’s been annoying me for too long about his little treasures here and there.”

Before his umpteenth escape from Arkham, the Joker had had a violent argument with the Riddler — no one had established the origin of the fight, but apparently, it has been about mockery said by the Joker and ridiculous sketches drawn in lipstick on the walls of the asylum, the conclusion had been a bare-handed fight.

Out of Arkham, Joker intended to add another humiliation by solving the puzzle that Edward Nigma said he had left in his safe.

“Why?” Maya Dominguez began, frightened by the fact that the Joker was still two steps away from her. “Why do you…? I can open the main safe, I have the keys…”

She regretted her words: in an exaggerated outburst, Joker had turned towards her. His pupils, too small in his big, sick eyes, seemed capable of probing every hair dressed of fear on her head.

“What?! What are you implying?! Do you mean that my accounts are empty?! Should I help myself and pick in other safes?”

Good Lord, her heart missed a beat.

The maniac had placed his elbow on the edge of the counter; now, he was almost slumped on it, like too tall, too thin even for himself… but his body always deceives his opponents with this alleged fragility, this false languor. Maya knew it. She had already seen the Joker on the internet and on television, when the cameras were filming his fights against the police or against Batman. Anyone knew that the Joker’s muscles were springy, his kicks could be as fast as the attacks of a cobra.

Agile and lively. No, there was nothing _fragile_ about the clown.

“Come on, little dove, tell me how much I have on this account.”

Maya opened Jack White’s customer file. Her swollen tongue prevented her from swallowing, suffocating her. She tried to say the balance of the account, but her voice lurked in the back of her throat, refusing to match the movement of her lips.

The Joker looked at her, mouth ajar to imitate her, enjoying the fear.

“No sound? That means no money?”

“Th-there is money! You have… 34…” A green eyebrow raised. “34,777 dollars… and 56 cents…”

“Only on this account?!” His fist hit the edge, making a thunderous sound… then he laughed out louder. It was the first time that lightning followed the roar of the storm. “That’s some great news!”

So great that he threw his hat in the air and caught it.

Then, with this natural brusqueness, he made another request:

“Tell me, do you have a cell phone that can make videos? Could you broadcast my little operation on a social networks? Pick your favorite! I don’t mind! My cell phone is almost out of battery. Oh, and I think my Twitter account has been suspended again.”

He adopted a sulky pout that contradicted the red smile he had drawn on his face.

“A-All right…”

“Thank you _very_ much.”

He leaned towards her and laughed.

Maya could see the blood-soaked veins in his eyes, the wet scar from a fresh wound that ran from his lips to his chin, the dark circles that mimicked the night under his eyes. She had always thought the Joker’s face could look this way thanks to make-up, but his skin was just as gray as marble. It truly was.

Although she was shaking of terror, Maya Dominguez took her phone on the counter and opened the Instagram application. It suggested her plenty of filters and smileys for her story, and while the Joker certainly would not have refused an avalanche of happy faces for his show, the young woman had no desire to try these options.

She sniffed, holding her cell phone in both hands and pushed play.

The bank was plunged into a silver, almost greenish darkness because of the sad storm. The heavy rain outside was bringing down watery curtains to cut them off from the world.

“So, Billy! Tell me! When did Eddie come by?”

“The 6th of last month, boss.”

“Makes sense. I hate logic. But you know what, Billy? I’ll handle Eddie’s safe myself, and you can go take care of Batman’s. I’ll catch up with you right after.”

Joker chuckled as the man named Billy rushed to the vault. That man was used to his boss’ laugh, nonetheless, he felt terrified every time he heard any variation of that sound.

To increase of level of fear, one of the clowns in the background struck an employee’s temple with a violent blow, knocking her out. In the corner of the live video, the woman’s body collapsed, becoming a shadow nailed on the ground.

Maya did not know if she should continue filming, if the lens should follow the clown or not, if she should discreetly interrupt the live. As she was broadcasting the Joker’s show, she was giving it visibility, but it was also a way to call the police and… Batman.

On the video, comments were flowing. Two smartasses had no qualms about asking how many people died and whether the brutalized woman was one of them. P-s-y-c-h-o-p-a-t-h took the opportunity to ask if the Joker would agree to marry her. Maya turned pale with anger, barely comforted by the other outraged people who said they had called the police. Virtual Gotham was tearing each other apart.

Maya began praying that Batman would not be too long. Too late.

Sirens were getting closer to the bank and soon, in addition to their deafening cries, their glows, hatched in red and blue, invited themselves as ephemeral beings into the enclosure, amplifying their dance as they gathered.

In the tumult of the rain, a voice carried by a megaphone dared to ask the Joker and his acolytes to come out and surrender; a ridiculous demand, but at least the usual protocol was followed. Even the Joker had a chance to surrender before the shooting.

“How cute!” The Prince of Crime jubilated, then he adjusted the flower in the buttonhole of his jacket. He did not need a gun for today — he never resisted the appeal of danger — but he had more than one trick up his sleeve: no matter how tight the suit, Joker had concealed sneaky blades and dangerous traps. Oh, and there was Ivy’s gift…

Despite the repeated sound of rain against the windows, another warning sounded, and before the policeman finished his sentence, Joker extended his arms to the camera which was still recording:

“Bats! Is it too early for you?! I’ve known you to be more punctual! Are you really going to let inspector Thingamajig or commissioner Doohickey arrest me instead of you?”

His jovial intonations exploded like gunshots; they surprised and assaulted the hearing.

“Chad,” he called, “go to the door and see how many of them there are. But pleeease, behave yourselves while I take care of the next act, _d’accord_?” If Joker did not mind a little warm-up against police officers, he was planning to save the best of him for his favorite. “We’re still waiting for our little Dark Diva.”

The man known as Chad moved stealthily toward the glass door. When he glued his face against the cold surface, drops blurred his clown face: his red mouth turned into a nest of firebugs, smiling and grimacing at once. The Joker’s operations always offered some burlesque effects.

Joker was surprised to see Billy back so quickly:

“Billy? Are you finished yet?”

“No, boss, I was on my way to the other vault, but I found this next to the Riddler’s one…”

This guy, picked up on the streets of Gotham, was smaller than his boss, much smaller, and the way he was bending his neck right now made him really tiny. His bowed legs had to bear a weight that was very difficult to support judging by his posture, yet he was holding only a piece of paper in his hand. A simple sheet of paper where a drawing could be seen. These fists, large and covered by visible veins, were shaking; he was a child giving a bad report card to his mother.

The Joker’s spider fingers grabbed one of the corners of the sheet and pulled it up into the light. It was a pencil drawing, and the applied style proved how much the author did his best: The Riddler’s silhouette, wearing his famous costume with question marks, stood above a sickly, skinny clown, his half-bald skull crushed by the feet of the victorious opponent.

The Joker’s lips formed a crack full of resentment. He pressed the flower on his chest and a spurt of acid flew in the middle of the drawing. The picture began to wrinkle, then it burned, releasing bit of steam.

The Joker was no longer in the mood.

With a wave of his finger, he ordered Maya to point the phone at him again.

Because of the rain, the clouds were suffocating the day to make the night last. Batman should already be here.

“You know what happens when my patience runs out, Batman.” The Joker said.

He grabbed Billy’s revolver. The man quelled a shiver: when the Prince was armed, it was always a forced invitation to Russian roulette, except that the surprise came not from the barrel — which was full —, it was only about the identity of the victim.

Who was going to be killed? Where will the Joker’s hand aimed for? Since chance rhymed with madness, some henchmen dreaded the day when the clown would point the barrel at his own temple to blow his brains out. But today was not the day either: Joker aimed away and fired quickly. The bullet, invisible, only noisy and burning, crossed the hall. It pierced the middle of Maya Dominguez’s forehead and only stopped in the middle of the burning neurons.

It would have been a long day for Maya Dominguez and, in a last flash of lucidity, she told herself that the slowness with which she got up this morning, this refusal to go to work, was pure instinct. If only she had pretended to be sick…

As the telephone fell, the internet audience witnessed a succession of confusing images: a keyboard, a wooden surface, papers, perhaps blood as well. Then the camera lens hit the floor and the sudden darkness was like a curtain at the end of a play.

Peter Wilson jumped when he heard the shot. Even though the rain was heavy — the drops as large as pearls were blurring the senses —, the policeman could not have been mistaken about the sound that was part of his daily routine.

And it was the Joker, that beast, who held the civilians hostage. With that maniac, there would always be tragic events.

What surprised Peter Wilson, on the other hand, was the sudden roar of an engine behind him.

A long car with an aggressive silhouette had just parked at an angle. Shimmering in the rain, the black bodywork evoked ink and melancholy, while the owner, who was already standing next to the policeman, inspired fear with his long cape.

“Batman!”

“Do you know how many of them there are?”

The knight seemed exhausted, even nervous. The grappling hook already in his hand, he did not want to lose another minute.

“No, but we think the Joker has at least a dozen accomplices. As for the hostages, we don’t know the number, but there may be one injured or worse…”

Batman intended to stop the countdown, so even before Peter Wilson finished his sentence, the grappling hook clung onto the ledge of the second floor and the bat flew away. Amazed and frightened at the same time, the policeman wondered how such a massive body could appear so light at the end of a cable.

The bas-reliefs were weeping over the blood that had been spilled within the walls of their sanctuary. Their stone faces seemed darker and more austere than ever. If Peter Wilson had been able to see Batman’s profile closer, he would have noticed a stunning resemblance in the rigidity of the jaw, the same tension that made the lips hard.

Batman always sent his opponents to the hospital, never to the morgue. It was a rule that allowed no exceptions, even for the Joker. It was a struggle that Commissioner Gordon hold against the knight, mentioning it already fifteen times, and despite this, Batman had always refused killing his Nemesis. However, as he advanced in the air duct he had picked, this conviction began to shatter.

Some newspapers had already prepared the front page for the day Batman would kill the Joker, he knew it, and a little voice whispered — shouted, in fact — that these front pages would finally be used today.

_“_ _Master_ _Bruce?_ _Are you in_ _the bank yet?”_

“Yes, Alfred. I’m late and that other business may have caused the death of a hostage.”

_“_ _I_ _t_ _’_ _s not your fau—”_

“Not now, Alfred.”

Batman had stopped enough robberies in this bank to know the innards of the building. In fact, he knew the path formed by these ducts as he knew the corridors of Wayne’s mansion; every nook, every shortcut, every passageway was recorded in his memory.

Now Batman had to choose the best angle to surprise the Joker, knock him and his acolytes out as quickly as possible, and then let the police take all that smart bad set back to Arkham or Blackgate so Batman could return to deal with his first enemy, the one who had made him late.

A burst of laughter echoed under the metal ground and a strange thought struck Batman: when Joker will die, his laughter will haunt him from under the coffin lid, the same way it had hit the walls right now. Batman was sure of it.

The fright faded, the wild thought vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Batman pulled himself together. At least he could guess where the Joker was now: at the vaults.

Through a wire fence, Batman was able to observe the main hall and was furious to see that a young woman had been killed. The other hostages were alive, so the vigilante’s priority was to save them.

“Guys! I can see the Batmobile!” Chad shouted, still near the glass doors. “Keep an eye out, Batman should be here soon!”

The henchmen’s eyes went from one corner to another, even scanning the ceiling, a source of danger as the darkness of a rainy morning could easily hide a bat. But no statue served as a perch to any big raven, none of them was crowned by an enemy.

Suddenly, a small octagonal box fell, spreading an opaque mist, mimicking the clouds outside and flooding the hall with moisture. A grappling hook slipped toward a clown and, after closing its black claws on his back, hoisted him up like a bundle.

“He’s here! _He’s here!_ ”

The first victim was hysterical.

Despite the surprise, the hostages did not dare to move; the slightest movement could have reminded the henchmen about their presence and nobody wanted to share the fate of Maya Dominguez. Silent, they became shadows in the smoke, mimicking death’s stillness so they could survive. Their attackers were less fortunate, however: blinded in this mist, they were easy prey.

The first man received a blow in the jaw, which sent him into an even thicker fog. A second man was trapped in the air, about ten meters away from his colleague who was still struggling. A third one, panic-stricken, began firing, waving the cannon with the hope he could shoot his target at least once, but the weapon suddenly became silent, pierced somewhere its metal throat by a bat-shaped blade. The henchman threw his weapon in the direction the batarang came from, but before the rifle hit the ground, a fist hit the back of his skull.

They fell one after the other with a surprising facility. Habit always makes the task easy, especially since Batman could afford to be overconfident with these clowns. However, he would take more precautions with their leader who was waiting for him further away.

Batman ordered the hostages to leave the bank, and now that the cops were going to take the Joker’s men to the vans, the knight could deal with his devil.

A long narrow corridor led to the vaults. The bare walls left no possibility of hiding, even for a man as skinny as the Joker. Batman did not hear the slightest sneer, as if his enemy had vanished, disappearing like a ghost, but he knew that at the end of the corridor was the registrar’s office, a tiny room that marked the boundary between the bank and the safes, so despite the unusual silence, Batman opened the door with caution.

The door was halfway open when Batman had to fight back a loud crash: pieces of a clay pot exploded, a plant collapsed against the door, its bare roots lying on the ground.

“You’ve always loved flowers, Bats, right?”

Dear God, Batman had heard this joke before and he already knew the punchline: without even seeing Joker, he realized that the clown was wearing this hideous and poisonous flower, and with a quick movement of his arm, the vigilante protected himself with his cape before the acid spray touch him.

“Yes, I like flowers, but you never let me stop and smell the roses, Joker.”

“Ah! That isn’t a bad one, Batsy! Trying to match with me? I knew you were my biggest fan!”

“Give up.”

The hilarity could be heard again. Batman had known this laugh for a long time, yet he had never been sure whether the Joker was expressing genuine joy or whether it was simply an effect of nervousness that began to release endorphins in anticipation of the blows.

From under his leather wing, Batman shoot the grappling hook to hit his enemy, but the Joker dodged in time with a jump to the side. Their struggle was almost like a rehearsed choreography. The first one knew the jokes and traps of the other, the other knew the defenses and techniques of the first one.

Batman’s anger intensified. He did not have time to play around with the Joker and he had to cut short their meeting: he rushed at the clown, aiming with his elbow, even if he knew that in terms of speed, Joker was his equal.

“You look more like a buffalo than a small mammal, Batsy!” Joker laughed after he dodged again. His veins pulsed with joy, turning his blood into electric flow. To provoke his enemy, Joker grabbed a piece of his own jacket and waved it like a bullfighter. “Or maybe you look a bit like Bane?”

The second attempt with the batclaw was more successful: the presence of the cape prevented Batman from aiming correctly, but it hit the knee of the inattentive clown who lost his balance.

Before the clown got up, Batman tried to hit him between the shoulders, but even now, Joker remained agile and got back on his feet before it was too late.

He seemed to be spring-loaded, moving and bouncing like a devil out of a box.

“Oh my, you look exhausted, Bats! Was it a long night? Is that why you made me wait?”

Joker ran and leaned on Batman’s shoulders to jump over, playing leapfrog. In his jump, he took the opportunity to electrocute his opponent — he could thank all the metal that made up the armor — and if the attack was not lightning, it still surprised Batman who could not escape.

When the bat turned around, slowed down by tense muscles, Joker had disappeared, but his laughter resounded on the right, from an open safe, inviting Batman to enter and to continue their fight.

Cloak used as a shield, Batman protected himself by putting one foot in the safe, avoiding the firecrackers and confetti that exploded to celebrate his arrival. He then felt the Joker’s arms slip around his neck to strangle him.

“Take the nap you deserve, my dear.”

Batman struggled like a madman, worried to feel the Joker so close. Glued against him, Joker would have no trouble stabbing him or…

Finally, Batman succeeded in sending the tip of his elbow into Joker’s stomach, just below the sternum, paralyzing him.

Had the Joker really intended to lock him up in a safe? For a moment, Batman wondered if his lifelong enemy had not guessed his identity: turning a safe into a tomb for a multi-billionaire would have been a joke worth of his perverse sense of humor.

But Bruce Wayne had no desire to find out. He did not let the Joker catch his breath and quickly handcuffed him before hoisting him onto one of his shoulders.

“You’re the one who needs to sleep, Joker. Stay still and you’ll be in Arkham in less than an hour, in your cell.”

Joining his hands closely, the Joker delivered a violent blow to Batman’s lower back; the maniac may have been stunned, he still had surprising strength. Under the pain, the vigilante flexed slightly. His teeth gnashed, smothering an insult, making the Joker laugh again.

In a logic of vengeance, the knight returned the blow, striking the Joker’s back too and knocking his fist down without restraint. The moaning he heard was satisfying, and finally Batman allowed himself a grin.

“Bats… Will you be very angry with me if I vomit on your cape?”

“You’ve done worse things.” The vigilante replied, but the Joker did not carry out his threat: he just giggled, which increased the pain in his belly.

On several occasions, the clown tried to pull himself out of the embrace. His snake-like thinness gave him an advantage, but Batman held him firmly, almost choking him.

They were now only a few yards from the bank’s lobby.

“Not the lobby already, Batsy! It was too short, I want more!” Joker had stuck his elbows in the back of Batman to stand up. “Let’s keep fighting a little longer, please? Ten minutes? Five minutes? Come on!”

Batman did not answer.

Since Joker would not have it the polite way, he would have it the hard way: despite his tight wrists, the clown managed to reach one of the weapons he had stuck inside his sleeve, a Reverdin needle — oh, a simple a loan from Arkham’s dissecting room — with a curved, pointed tip. With a mischievous smile, he found a crack between the plates of the armor and stuck the tool into Batman’s flank like a hook, wrenching a scream out of the vigilante.

The Joker was thrown away and he cowered before his head hit the marble, sparing himself further pain. Shivering with laughter, he called out to Batman:

“Alright, big boy! You’re late and you think you can leave so quickly?! Would it kill you to have more consideration for _me_ , your lifelong friend?!”

“You’re not the only mental patient in Gotham, Joker! You’re going back to Arkham now and you’re staying there!”

Batman pulled the tool from his hip with an angry roar that punctuated his words.

“Oooh, that’s _why_ you were so late! Forgiiive me, Batsy, next time I’ll give a call to be sure if there’s still room in your agenda.” The needle was thrown at his feet, spitting a thin spray of blood. “Let me think: Crane and Bane are still at Arkham, the Penguin is hospitalized thanks to bad oysters, Harley is still waiting for me in her cell...”

Batman grabbed Joker by the collar, strangling him when he lifted him up again.

“Quiet.”

Now that he had gotten the clown back on his feet, he could drag him to the entrance of the bank.

“Kiss me goodbye at least? I mean, without the tongue, eh, have some decency, everyone’s looking at us.” Joker laughs. He bent down to frighten his enemy, who retreated; with his smile, it was impossible to know whether he was trying to kiss or devour. “What are you afraid of, Batsy? I’m not going to hurt you! No more, not now you intrigued me. Come on, tell me! Who has supplanted me in your heart? Who managed to steal my place? Drop the name, you owe me that!”

But the mystery remained complete.

Batman felt a relief as he pushed the bank door open: knowing that the Joker problem was — for the moment — solved, a weight on his shoulders vanished.

The cheeks of the young policeman, Peter Wilson, were dripping despite the cap; the small visor did not protect him from the rain that continued to whip his face, the same way it did for the three colleagues who had stayed behind. The vans had already left for Blackgate prison, but the leader of the hold up had a different destination.

“Do you have a team to take care of him?” Batman asked, his hand still holding the Joker’s arm. The madman found it amusing to bend over and snap his teeth under the young officer’s nose.

“In fact… uh… Detective Morrison thought you’d take care of him… You’re more used to it, you know?”

“See, Batsy,” the Joker laughed, “once again, you’re the one who’s assigned to me! Look at him, that poor boy, he’s shivering with cold and fear. Let him go home and take his coffee break or he’ll end up pissing all over himself.”

To silence him, Batman shook the clown forcefully.

Teams had become smaller because the police had really counted on Batman to take care of the Joker. The vigilante could not blame them, since it was true: it was a long-standing habit. Whether the Prince of Crime was involved in a robbery, a hostage-taking, an assassination attempt, or freeing a tiger in a zoo, Batman always popped up to put an end to the clown’s tasteless jokes. The ritual, then, was the same every time: Gotham’s sentry would walk him back to Arkham Asylum, sometimes even to his cell, just to make sure he would not escape on the way.

To mark his annoyance, Batman tightened his grip. He would have broken Joker’s arm.

Without a word, without saluting the officer, Batman pushed the Joker towards the batmobile.

“You can’t imagine how happy I am, Bats! I must be a bit old-fashioned, because I always prefer when it’s my partner who takes me home. Well, ‘dance partner’, ‘arch-enemy’, you’re not going to be picky about words, are you?”

“Shut it.”

He threw the criminal on the passenger seat and checked that he could not escape.

Joker was no longer surprised by the interior of the vehicle. Oh, sure, the first time he had been strapped on that seat, he had felt a great excitement! After all, being in the car of a sportsman who disguises himself as a bat to fight crime every night was something to behold. Back then, Joker had tried to touch the buttons and had commented on every detail, mocking generously, getting on Batman’s nerves.

Today, the Joker was no longer impressed for he already knew the sloping windshield and the darkness that haunted the interior of the vehicle. He had already felt the pressure of the straps against the cold — but comfortable, let’s be honest — seat, just like he had already breathed in the smell of waxed leather and electric steel.

Water was dripping down his nose and chin. Too bad, he had left his hat in the bank. Never mind! Anyway, when the engine started to whirr, an oven heat spread through the car.

Before starting the car, Batman checked one last time if the Joker was tied up well enough — so the maniac was not tempted to punch the bat during the ride…

“Gordon, the Joker has been apprehended. Any news from Jervis Tetch’s plan?”

_“We_ _’_ _re following the kid, she_ _’_ _s still under hypnosis.”_

“Don’t touch her until we know if waking her up is dangerous.”

_“All right, Batman. We_ _’_ _ll be waiting for you.”_

Joker wiped the tip of his nose before trying to clap despite his tied up hands.

“So it was _him_! The Mad Hatter! I thought that his occupations were limited to smoking his hookah and collecting panties.”

His soaked hair almost flattened on his skull. All wet, the Joker seemed even sicker and skinnier than usual. Feeling a surge of pity, Batman turned up the heat a little bit.

“Only when he’s locked up in Arkham.”

“If you’re looking for him, Bats, I advise you to go to tea rooms, hat shops — especially the most ridiculous ones —, and middle schools!”

“I already know where he is. I’ll take care of Tetch and bring you both back to Arkham.”

“Oh! Was I right, then? He was in a middle school, right?” If Batman did not answer, it meant he was right! The clown gloated and clapped his hands again. “Of course! His obsession with prepubescents is well known at Arkham!”

This peculiarity did not make Batman laugh.

When he was locked up in Arkham, Jervis Tetch was nothing more than a strange man: his small height and red hair made him look like the local leprechaun, and he agreed to well behave as long as he could wear his green top hat. His file warned the medical teams: no young blonde nurse could take care of him, or she would be assaulted by this patient.

Arkham’s nurses first focused on treating Tetch’s addiction to phencyclidine, an anesthetic that had been withdrawn from the market when studies showed it was a powerful hallucinogenic psychotropic drug. According to Dr. Crocker, this addiction was at the origin of the obsession for the character of Alice.

The psychiatrist was also certain that his patient’s paedophile tendencies, as he exclusively targeted young blonde victims, were a symptom of a tenacious paranoia, the same sort of Victor Zsasz’s case. Zsasz assumed that the women he killed were released from their condition, while Jervis Tetch was convinced that he was taking revenge on vile twelve-year-old temptresses. So, outside the walls of the asylum, around the schools, the Mad Hatter’s delirium of persecution always resumed.

Nothing but a hallucination provoked by the psychotropic drug, the doctor was certain of it. As he had been certain that he had cured this addiction.

Another medical error that Batman had to rectify now.

Batman did not even understand how Jervis Tetch could have been released, even without being a doctor, and all he could do was watch for the first missteps and send the criminals back to their cells, hoping that the next therapy would be more effective.

And today, Jervis Tetch would get another chance at Arkham.

“If you’re too late, Bats, you’ll have failed twice today.” Joker chuckled, sinking into his seat. In anger, Batman gave him a blow on one of his bony knees.

“At first, I thought you were just a diversion to do the Mad Hatter a favor—”

“Heh, we’re not really close.”

“—but as usual, you were just sowing discord… chaos.”

It was not for money, it was not for the taste of blood — some of the Joker’s misdeeds did not even claim any victims —, it was not for glory, it was only for the love of…

“I missed you, Bats. How long had it been since we had seen each other? Three months? I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Batman frowned.

After a silence without a smile, Joker showed his teeth again in that demonic crack that was his mouth:

“I’m in no hurry to get back to Arkham, so I’m willing to make a detour for the poor Hatter. You know, my crimes are always on front pages, while his are only in a few columns in the minor news item, and yet, in terms of perversity, I’ve a lot to learn from him.”

“You don’t have the same criminal profile.”

Nor the same pathologies, and Batman did not know for who he could feel sorry the most: the Joker or the Hatter?


	2. The labyrinth burrow

**Interlude**

A big rabbit-shaped stuffed animal was slumped against the wall. Its hair, once soft and bushy, was now all clumpy due to humidity. If the cuddly toy was squeezed into an embrace, it would have started dripping like a sponge.

Smothering a moan, the girl moved a bit and changed her position: the grooves in the floorboards had imprinted on her buttocks, leaving painful marks. Still, these marks were harmless when compared to those left by the handcuffs, but moving the arms was too risky: every time she tried to move the bracelets, the clatter caused by the metal against the heating made the man furious.

She would never have believed that such a small man could terrify her so much.

On the other hand, when she was wearing that blue dress and that black bow in her blond hair, he could be really soft. In that case, if he did not scare her anymore, he disgusted her with his sick stare, looking at her knees, wrists and throat.

She was an ‘old Alice’, he said, yet she was only sixteen years old.

The presence of the teddy made her cry, as she known: the teddy bear testified that younger children had been in this room before.

She could no longer swallow. When he had kidnapped her, she was wearing polish, a detail that had gotten him mad and she had to take it off. Without a nail polish remover, she had no choice but to nibble the lilac-colored layer, disgusted by the resin particles on her tongue and between her teeth.

As a result, her nails were now really damaged, but at least they were no longer a cause for anger.

Suddenly, a glass break sound has been heard behind the door, the one that led to the living room, and the girl almost screamed before biting her lips just in time: screaming was like rattling chains, the Hatter could not stand it. It did not fit his staging.

Without understanding, she heard her kidnapper shouting in rage from the other side, then noises of struggle. What was going on? The police? She doubted it: she was tied up in the entrance, right in front of the door — the exit she had been dreaming to use for four days —, so she would have seen them.

After a few moments, the living room door opened and a huge silhouette, crowned with two pics, appeared. The half-light turned it into some nightmare. The rustle of wings she heard came from everywhere and from nowhere at once. Were there bats in _Alice in Wonderland_? She could not remember.

Oh wait! Yes, she did! At the very beginning! The Hatter had made her read the book about thirty times to make sure she would know the lines by heart for the tea time, and this one came back to her mind:

“Do cats eat bats? ... Do bats eat cats?”

“It’s over.” Assured the bat in a tender voice. “You’ll be fine, now.”

Using the key, he opened the handcuffs and, with gentle moves, began to massage the victim’s bruised wrists, warming the blood, perhaps checking the pulse at the same time.

After several minutes, Alice managed to get up and let the nocturnal animal carry her. If his cape had turned into real wings, she would not have been surprised. She would even have been delighted! Then they went through the front door and the rattling of the chain — which would have irritated the Hatter — was musical.

**Chapter 2 – The labyrinth burrow**

“We better stop

Hey, what’s that sound?

Everybody look – what’s going down?

We better stop

Hey, what’s that sound?

Everybody look – what’s going down?”

For What It’s Worth – Buffalo Springfield

“Only the person who has experienced light and darkness, war and peace, rise and fall, only that person has truly experienced life.”

Stefan Zweig

Before being warned that the Joker had attacked the bank on Chesterfield Street, Batman had been told by Commissioner Gordon about a strange kidnapping: the headteacher of a middle school located in the northern of Sheldon Park had reported that one of her students was missing.

According to witnesses, five young girls were chatting on the sidewalk in front of the school, waiting for the doorbell to ring, but just before the watches indicated eight o’clock, one of the students suddenly turned back and walked away from the group without a word. A monitor had tried to call her back, believing it was an attempt to skip class, but the teenager had ignored him with surprising stubbornness.

Her hair color, her small height for her age, and her cell phone — which could send but also receive signals — were too many coincidences that lead them to think about Jervis Tetch’s recent release.

Even if dawn was not a bat’s favorite time of day, James Gordon contacted Batman who accepted to locate the source of the signal of the cellphone.

And the signal was displayed again on the Batmobile’s GPS.

The vigilante was back on track.

“Bats, do you remember?” Joker asked, gesticulating. “Two years ago, do you remember? The Hatter had kidnapped a girl who was wearing nail polish. That loony thought she was provoking him, and she had to remove it with her own teeth! She nibbled her polish on her nails! Can you believe it? I do! The taste must have been disgusting!” Joker talked about it as a memory with friends. “Of course you remember, you were the one who saved her. Oh, I still see the pictures in the newspaper! Sure, everybody had cried, but you know what? The literati suffer a lot more. Aren’t you going to ask me why? I’ll answer you anyway: they could _kill_ to get those rare editions of _Alice in Wonderland_ and keep them away from the hands of that addict!”

Batman did not loosen his lips. As for him, he remembered a young girl with barely developed breasts, sitting and weeping next to a filthy teddy bear, traumatized by a man no taller than her who had called her a ‘whore’, blaming her for a crime she had not committed.

The Black Knight often thought about the victims of his enemies, and this one, like many, had moved him. He knew that when he came out of the apartment: this Alice-in-spite-of-herself will become a young woman trapped in a body that would change against her will.

“The Mad Hatter is sick. And if Arkham can’t find a cure, then he’ll stay there forever, never allowed to go out.”

“Come ooon. If we all stay there, you’d be bored without us, Batsy.”

No, he could be sleeping. Especially at this hour.

“If only all of you could give this town some peace sometimes.”

“We don’t always get what we want. Look at me!”

“You?”

“I’d kill for an ice cream right now, but I’m afraid my tongue will give you lustful ideas…”

Batman gave him a violent blow in the jaw.

Policemen, their feet in puddles that tried to rival the sea level, stood around an open manhole. Water was flowing inside in miniature rivers, filling the hollow void. A few more days of rain like this one and the sewers would be flooded.

The batmobile stopped a few meters away. The wheels were dripping so much that the rubber seemed to become liquid.

“Are you really going to leave me here?” Joker looked offended.

“You’d be a burden. Wait quietly in the car or I’ll tie you on the roof and leave your seat to the Hatter.”

“Do you even have a Bluray player in the batmobile? Cable? I’d like to see _Wall-E_ again, that movie always makes me cry!”

“No.”

“How about _101 Dalmatians_? You know, that old Disney with Harvey Dent’s aunt who wants to get a coat?”

The second refusal was translated by a door slamming and a locking noise.

“He truly thinks that his car is the best…?” Joker mumbled, looking at the dashboard. He taped his fingers on his lap, thinking about his favorite pastime: finding a way to kill boredom.

The policemen called Batman and gave him the more details they could about the situation.

First, the student had headed northwest of town. Patrols had checked the surrounding area, hoping to surprise Jervis Tetch, but they had found nothing. The girl had stopped in a waste ground to pick up a crowbar, then turned back, taking the same road but in reverse. The police felt puzzled. After a few kilometers, she had approached that manhole and had opened it with the crowbar.

Batman slowly nodded his head, his jaw tensed:

“Tetch is covering his tracks.”

“And he knows that a whole patrol can’t go through that manhole. You, on the other hand, could be able to follow her?”

Batman did not doubt it at all.

Under the admiration of the police, he slipped into the narrow conduit, showing remarkable agility. The smell of the water was powerful and every drop that burst was an autumn flower that opened. The water courses, despite being thin, were gnarled like roots, creeping everywhere, snaking towards the belly of the earth.

Batman stepped into the sewer’s first corridor, wiping his wet face, and was surprised by the look of the tunnels: everywhere, from floor to ceiling, plants had bloomed in abundance, hiding every brick, every grate.

Batman then remembered that he had arrested Poison Ivy three weeks earlier here: she had made the sewers her refuge — perhaps she had been helped by Killer Croc for this time — so she could poison Gotham’s biggest companies from underground.

The vigilante had to chase her through this maze that had already begun to bloom. But this morning, it was an underground greenhouse.

Although Batman knew of Poison Ivy’s talents, he was still amazed: there were plants there that could never have survived in this dark environment without the botanist’s help. On the ground, the moss was plentiful and soft, but foul-smelling. Mushrooms did not removed their caps of various shapes and colors for welcoming the intruder, still they shared their scent of forgotten humus. Above Batman’s head, wisteria let its bunches hang, looking like garlands of purple and green. Ivy, respectful of its siblings, did not suffocate the plants around it: it was just multiplying its thick leaves, playing with the buds of the roses that scattered.

It was a real fairy-tale tunnel and, luckily, in the grass, there was mint: the stems, broken by the footsteps of the girl, bled with a powerful smell.

“Gordon, I’m following in the footsteps of the teenage girl, I’ll get back to you as soon as I find her.”

The commissioner’s response was interspersed with sizzling.

“Gordon?”

This time there was only silence.

As Batman hung up, a jovial voice rose behind his back:

“Ivy has outdone herself! You know, the mayor should hire her to take care of the green spaces, don’t you agree, Batsy?”

Joker.

Batman’s fists clenched.

“You… snake.”

“Have you noticed? You often associate me with phallic symbols!”

Actually, Batman associated his enemy with the reptile’s ability to sneak out of any trap. If Bruce Wayne had been more religious, he would have even mentioned the fact that the snake represented evil, but since he disguised himself as a bat, a chaotic symbol, the remark would have been hypocritical.

He grabbed the Joker by the collar and pinned him to the wall, hanging him in the wisteria.

“What have you done to the policemen?!”

“They left right after you disappeared, Bats! There was no one left!”

Batman was forced to notice that there was no trace of blood on the clown’s hands, which were still handcuffed by the way. How had he managed to get out of the batmobile?

“You know, I think your help makes the cops lazy: they just leave you to do all the work… Don’t you have a trade union for flying mammals who are exploited? Don’t you?”

Maybe Batman could knock him out and use a rope to hold him in the car seat? But before he could do that, he would have to fight the Joker, who was, even if handcuffed, a strong opponent.

And the mint trail would fade in a few minutes.

No, time was running too fast.

“I mean it: you look tired, Bats. I feel so sorry for you, so I’m going with you! My plans for today have been canceled, but hey, you already knew that.”

“Go back in the car.”

“No way! I want to be there when you scold the Hatter!”

Certain that he could control him in case of danger, Batman kept his cool and decided to endure the Joker’s presence. However, he was not unaware of the danger:

“Listen to me, Joker: at the first suspicious gesture, I’ll knock you out and tie you. I’ll break both your arms and legs if I have to.”

“But will you knock me down first so it won’t hurt so much? You always had been big-hearted, Bats,” the Joker approached, showing his twisted smile. “It’ll lose you someday.”

Without answering, Batman grabbed him by the arm and forced him to move forward.

“Won’t you take these handcuffs off me? If I can be useful, I might as well be free to move.”

“Nice try.”

Batman let the criminal sulk.

To show his displeasure, Joker rattled his chains in an exaggerated way, but the nature that covered the tunnel muffled the echo. Another advantage of this garden.

There were green crossroads, corridors that unfolded into several lanes, but the path remained visible thanks to the neon lights that managed to shine.

“Batsy, I feel something in the air.”

“It’s the plants.”

“Ah. Ah. Ah. That was a really poor joke, Bats, worse than Harley’s. One more like that, and I’ll kick your bottom. No, I was talking about something electric. Something _gothamesque_.”

Batman sighed, trying to ignore him.

They walked for another five minutes, five minutes during which Joker tried to joke without tearing out the slightest grin, when the tunnel stopped: this end led to an exit three meters above. The ladder that allows the workers to reach the upper floor had been destroyed by the plants: its metal bones were twisted and had been thrown to the ground by the powerful ivy.

The footprints stopped here, however, the mint had been trodden upon, proving that the teenage girl had been there. Batman stepped forward and, with his fingertips, grazed the vines, looking for holds that could have been used by the victim, but the stems were intact.

Alice had not climbed this wall.

Joker rubbed his palms as he paces around the bat:

“Come on, detective, tell me what you’re thinking about. Jervis could’ve waited for her with a rope or a ladder, but he’s too delicate and lazy for that.”

With a nod, Batman confirmed that he agreed with the clown: the Hatter would have come for Alice much earlier if he had wanted to welcome her himself, but he relied exclusively on the waves to hypnotize his victims while he remained in his burrow, luring them.

“Have you ever seen _Shining_ , Bats?”

“What’s your point?”

“You should see it: it’s a film as cold as you, you should like it, but spoilers, big boy: at the end, the kid tries to leave his father behind in a snowy maze.”

“But his footsteps leave traces in the snow…”

“Oooh, look how clever he is!”

Batman remembered that little Danny Torrance found the trick of walking backwards by placing his feet where he had crushed the snow. The idea was interesting.

“We didn’t see where she could have turned, the smell of mint spreads too quickly. We have to go back.”

At each crossroads, Batman inspected the surroundings, checking the flowers to confirm or disprove the Joker’s hypothesis. He had no doubt that the idea would have come to him quickly, but the clown’s brain, as sick as it was, had always shown a vivid imagination and, in this situation, it was an asset.

“There.” Batman pointed to a fence with jasmine wrapped around the bars. The smell of the flower had made the mint’s smell more discreet, but further, the peppery leaves betrayed the victim’s passing.

Joker took the opportunity to make his handcuffs rattle, jumping on the spot:

“Since I’ve proved my good intentions, Batsy, can I become the new Robin and be free?”

“She didn’t made it by herself: she has no freewill.” Batman thought aloud to ignore the Joker’s request. “This ruse was dictated by the Hatter, which means he knows we’re still on track.”

“We. You said we.”

“Only for the grammatical form.”

“Don’t be shy, Batsy, no one can hear you here but me!”

And precisely, Batman would have liked not to hear Joker so much, but his enemy could monologue for hours: his jokes, the worst or the most abject ones, could have the effect of bad waves on thoughts, blurring thoughts and distracting.

Once again, thanks to the habits, Batman managed to ignore him, concentrating only on the track while the clown continued, singing and following the bat with long strides:

“Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you’re at! Oh wait, it must be… Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Thinking about the password to get to the Mad Hatter! You know, if you want to meet him, you must know Lewis Carroll’s works.”

“I’ll use another way.”

“Right! With your fists, the good old way! Tell me, why have you picked the bat? The buffalo would’ve been perfect!”

Batman had no time for philosophy.

After a moment, he knelt down, analyzing the mint. He was certain: the smell was strong and _fresh_. Soon the Hatter would run out of time and he could not trick them with another trap.

In a quick movement, the chain of handcuffs passed in front of Batman’s face. Surprised, he did not react fast enough and felt the steel rings against his throat.

Batman then raised his arms, looking for a hold to swing the Joker in front of him and knock him out, but as he grabbed his enemy’s coat, the pair of handcuffs fell into the grass with a dull sound.

Batman saw the Joker’s free wrists and heard him laugh:

“It was just a little joke, Batsy!”

Was there even a prison capable of holding the Joker back? Was there a way to hinder him without him being able to get out of the trap like a magician?

In anger, Batman got up, kicked the handcuffs away, and grabbed the Joker by the collar to lift him up. He pressed him so forcefully against the honeysuckle that the blood-drop-colored flowers shuddered. The gnarled stems were sinking into the clown’s back; the relief of these nerves were oddly similar to the rigid backbone.

Accustomed to being lifted and punched by the dark knight, Joker clung to the arm, knowing the points of attachment that allowed him to fight against gravity, against the anger of the bat.

“Bats! I was joking! Bat—”

Batman’s other hand pressed against his throat: it was not only to hurt him, it was mostly to make him stop laughing. No giggling, no chuckle. The vigilante needed silence.

“Quiet.”

Joker tried to reply, but it was like he had lost his voice. A smile was all he could make. His teeth bite into his lower lip, a tic perhaps motivated by pain.

Gradually, his feet went down and finally touched the green lawn. The air, humid, was more intense than a few minutes before. Batman still grabbed the collar of the coat, ready to brutalize him again.

“You have no sense of humor, Bats, but don’t be resentful too: I’ve asked you _twice_ to take off the handcuffs. Even tied up, I’m dangerous, you know that.”

“But still less dangerous than free. And more predictable, too: I suspected that you would end up trying to strangle me.”

“ _Predictable_? I’ve never been more insulted! Since I’m predictable, Bats, what did I plan for you this morning? Because I was close to succeeding, you know?”

Still holding the coat, Batman advanced in the corridor. He was certain that the other entrance to this fairy-tale burrow was only a few meters away. This story would soon be over: the Joker and the Hatter would be at Arkham and Bruce Wayne would be at his mansion to get some sleep — at last.

“I’ve only interest for Jervis’ plans. Yours don’t matter for now.”

Joker shrugged.

The end of the road was marked by a damp light flooding the tunnel from a manhole. Waterfalls still streamed down, drowning a ladder whose rungs were hit by armies of drops. The regular sound seemed to resonate for all eternity.

Close to the exit, and thus to the surface, Batman managed to locate the spot they had reached on his forearm screen: they were on the west coast of the Bowery, the district where Jervis Tetch had set up his hat shop.

“So many detours for that!” Joker laughed when he saw where the bright spot was. “He knows how to drive us crazy, good old Jervis, a gift he shares with his favorite character.”

“And with you.”

The manhole was open but Batman had to be careful: he would have to pull himself up slowly to see what could be waiting for him and…

“What are you going to do, Bats? What are you waiting? Go! Fly to the rescue of Alice in the Distressland! Wait! Maybe it’s risky: Jervis has never killed anyone, but you know how it is with paranoid schizophrenics: you make them a little angry and _bam_ , they start doing stupid things!”

Joker always used endless speeches to express an idea or suggest a solution, and Batman did not have the time to listen to him, not even the will:

“What’s your point, Joker? Tell me.”

“What if I got out _before_ you?”

‘Why’ was the first question that came to Batman’s mind, but he knew that this kind of question never had an answer with Joker, so he opted for another approach:

“What do you get out of it? Do you have a score to settle with Jervis?”

“With Jervis?! Not at all! He never even touched Harley despite his obsession for young blondies. In fact, with the other inmates of the asylum, he’s quite a nice little guy. He had offered flowers to Ivy once, and he may be the only man who did so without asking for _her_ flowers in exchange.”

Joker laughed, proud of his pun.

“You’re only giving reasons to refuse, Joker: I don’t want you to help him.”

“Help him?! Your jokes are still that bad, Bats! Soon I’ll have no other choice but kick that muscular butt or yours, but maybe that’s what you’re looking for? Come on, don’t look so afraid, your ridiculous cape would stop me anyway.” With a curiously friendly gesture, Joker leaned on the vigilante’s shoulder. “Listen, Batsy: Jervis knows you’re coming for him, so imagine his surprise if it’s me who drops by instead of you? I’m not going to help him; I’m going to help you!”

Batman was tempted to push the clown away, but the clown hung on, whispering:

“You won’t regret this, Bats.”

The girl had just walked through the door. Although soaked to the bone, her body, totally under the influence of the hypnotist, did not tremble, obeying no rules of survival.

Jervis had put towels on the floor for Alice so she could dry herself. After that, she would put on her clean and dry blue dress.

The abandoned building was not really the ideal setting for a reconstruction of Lewis Caroll’s universe, but for an artist like Jervis Tetch, nothing was impossible: he had exploited enough elements, like the checkerboard tiles and the wooden stairs, emphasizing their slightly outdated beauty. Damaged walls had been hidden by striped hangings, imitating Victorian wallpaper. In the center of the main room, the man had added a round table hidden by a large white tablecloth. Surrounded by wrought-iron chairs and armchairs, this installation completed the ambience of an English lunch in a garden.

The Mad Hatter had thought he could not do anything against the smell of humidity and dust, but the tea and cakes had granted his wish by distilling their perfume, followed, in a more discreet tone, by the two bouquets of roses on the table.

Once dressed in her costume, Alice took her seat and the Hatter grabbed the teapot to fill the cups.

“Alice, you were almost late, I thought my invitation had been lost!” He looked at the cell phone. Such a useful tool for hypnotizing from a distance! “But came the age when invitations can’t get lost, don’t you agree, Alice?”

He was babbling alone, giggling and waddling, when a knock against the door broke his good mood.

“Oh no… no, no, no, no…” Jervis grabbed a long knife and quickly examined the blade. “It was supposed to cut the cake, not a bat…”

The Hatter sneaked up to the wall and flattened himself against it, preparing for his attack. He pressed the handle and swung the door, using it as protection and to surprise Batman.

The guest’s shadow was long and threatening, accentuated by two spikes that adorned his head.

“Am I late, Jervis?”

The hatter choked an exclamation. He leaned over and saw Joker, soaked despite his coat, with his hands on either side of his skull and his forefingers raised.

“Is there still room for the March Hare?”


	3. Tea Time

**Interlude**

It was a perverse game that had been going on for years between the clown and the bat.

A game that Jim Gordon could not and would not understand. To tell the truth, Batman himself did not understand either: his relationship with Joker was different from the one he had with other criminals in Gotham, because the Joker’s crimes revolved mainly around _Batman_.

If Poison Ivy succeeded in killing Batman, she would be free to accomplish her extreme-ecological projects. If Batman was executed, it would made one enemy less for Harvey Dent. As for the Penguin, he would sleep easier if the bat was shot down, even though he would have to deal with other opponents.

But for Joker, Batman’s disappearance would mean so much more: he would lost a friend.

The madman would even have spoken of a soul mate.

Of course, the Joker would still be a threat, ready to wreak havoc in Gotham, but he would be different. He would feel different. Robin? Nah, he would not want him. Batgirl? Ah, he already condemned her to a wheelchair.

Joker wanted Batman.

Without Batman, the fun would be spoiled.

Some nights, when the bullet had burned too close to his face, when the bonds had been a little tighter than usual, when acid had pierced his cape instead of his helmet, Batman thought that he owed his life only thanks to the affection Joker had for him.

“Why do you want to help him?” Gordon asked, his neck down and a cold cigarette butt between his fingers. “Wait, I already know that answer, let me ask you another question: why do you think you can help him?”

The commissioner was angry, so Batman preferred to remain silent.

“What do you see in him, Batman?!”

Gordon, for his part, saw the maniac had made his only daughter paraplegic. If there was one criminal that Batman could killed without Gordon flinching, it was the Joker.

Who would mourn him? Except that crazy Harley Quinn, of course.

Batman?

Jim Gordon suddenly looked up, scrutinizing what he could see of the vigilante’s face. Unlike his daughter, he had no idea who Batman was and had come to think — in the same way that the Joker had — that Batman was simply Batman.

But underneath the armor, there was a human being with a heart.

A man with feelings.

For one absurd moment, Gordon wondered if Batman also loved men. He had heard rumors about Catwoman and Poison Ivy, beautiful women that even the Black Knight could have not resist. But what about men?

Since he apparently had a soft spot for criminals, maybe he…

“What did you find out there?” Gordon needed to get these ideas out of his head, otherwise he would end up doubting the only man who could protect Gotham from these lunatics. “Joker had talked about a bomb in a school, I thought it would be a stinker.”

“There was a bomb, but it could never have exploded.” Since he had the attention of the policeman, Batman went on quietly: he knew the next part would upset him… “I had several minutes left, so I analyzed the bomb and I noticed that it was fake: no trace of explosive, no chemical product. There were waves inside, but nothing more.”

“It wasn’t a bomb? What was it then?”

“It was some kind of a… music box.”

“Say that again?”

“A radio on a precise frequency. I interrupted the countdown as a precaution, but to figure out what would have happened at the last minute, I retrieved the frequency on my computer and waited.”

“And? Was there another message? Something like the location of another bomb?”

“That was I thought, but the frequency was from Gotham Radio. Around 1:00 a.m., it’s Vanessa Daily’s show.”

“The one with the song requests?”

“Yes.”

Batman did not want to explain what happened next: he had announced that all danger was over and that he had accomplished his mission, yet that was not enough for his colleague.

“And then?”

“Mr. White asked Vanessa Daily to play _Because the Night_ for Mr. Bats.”

Beyond the romantic register, the success of Patti Smith was a title of true sensuality, a message of complicity.

Gordon was not laughing. The dedication did not make Batman laugh either.

But he liked even less the worried look of the commissioner.

“One day, he’s going to kill you, Batman. He’ll kill you after all the opportunities he’s given you, and I hope for your sake that it’ll be quick, otherwise you’ll realize that you never needed him and you’ll regret it.”

The Dark Knight retreats. If only he could be as sure as Gordon.

**Chapter 3 – Tea time**

“'Cause I was once just like you

And how it grew and how it grew

All these dreams of human beings

And all these wells, all these springs

I just don't know what to do, what to do

What to do

Mama don't leave, mama don't stay

We don't know what game to play”

Emily Jane White - Stairs

« Les vices des hommes

Sont mon domaine

Leurs plaies mes doux gâteaux

J’aime mâcher leurs viles pensées

Car leur laideur fait ma beauté. »[1]

Joyce Mansour

The blade was still clenched in the Hatter’s fist. The pikes formed by the Joker’s forefingers reminded him of the silhouette of Batman rather than the ears of a hare.

“Joker?!”

“Yes, Jervis: Joker! Come on, you’re not going to tell me you don’t remember me! We used to meet in the corridors of Arkham, don’t you remember? Orange uniform, green hair!” He leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. “As for me, I remember you. You may be the smallest inmate, if you don’t count Scarface. And you’re so redheaded that we could redo the flag of Mexico with our hair, provided that we could catch an eagle, of course.”

Joker had grabbed his own mop with a loud laugh.

Jervis looked at him with exorbitant eyes: if he had feared the arrival of Batman, he was certainly no happier about meeting this madman again. He tightened his grip on the knife and showed it to the Joker. Jervis Tetch was crazy enough to threaten the Joker when he was free.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You’re talking nonsense! A Mad Hatter without a March Hare? Come on, Jervis, did you even read the book?!”

“You’re more like the Cheshire Cat! You try to confuse Alice and make her doubt! You mustn’t do that! No, you mustn’t!”

Without listening to him, Joker approached the table where the girl was sitting, effectively adopting the gait of a confident and wicked cat, then, panic-stricken, Jervis hit the floor with his foot.

“You’re not supposed to be there!” he repeated. “Batman was following Alice, he followed her like a shadow, and you’re the one who appears!”

“Fine! So you expected to see Batman, right?”

“Yes, I did!”

“But I killed him, Jervis.”

The Hatter jumped. The arm that held the weapon lost its strength and fell back against his thigh. He approached his former asylum companion, the tip of his skull barely reaching the elbow of a man as tall as the Joker.

“You… You did? No, you didn’t. You didn’t killed him… or you did? Really? How? _How?_ ”

Joker interpreted these mumbled questions as an invitation, so he sat down at the other end of the table, facing the schoolgirl, still under the influence of hypnosis, and the host.

Because of his height, surpassing both of them, he almost looked like a teacher interrupting a meeting of students. Yet, as if if was not enough, Joker looked up at the damp ceiling, looking beyond this Lewis Carroll setting.

The ceiling was in a really poor state: if the mayor of Gotham continued to only restore the privileged neighborhoods, the building in the poor ones would eventually collapse right in the middle of the street. The tired bricks would fall into the sea and onto the road, surely hitting passers-by in the decline.

“Bats was totally focused on your kidnapping, Jervis, and the sewer trick did me a favor. The gargoyles, the ledges, the roofs… all these things were Batman’s strong points, but cramped corridors? Ah! Cutting off his wings was easy.”

With his jaw hanging down, Jervis served black tea in three cups. It was obvious now that he counted Joker among his guests at his tea time.

“But what have you done of the body? Did you… ?”

“I left him there since I can’t make up my mind… You know, I’m a bit disappointed… I’ve always thought everyone in Gotham would see our final confrontation. For God’s sake! He was Batman! And I’m the Joker! Everybody knows us, everybody wanted to know who was going to win! But the beloved citizens of Gotham missed it… Can you believe it?! Now I think about it, even _he_ didn’t see me coming!”

Joker put his elbows on the table and looked unhappy. In fact, it was like he has started to sulk.

“What should I do, Hatter? Burn Batsy’s body? Throw him into the sea? Dissolve him in acid and keep at least one bone as a souvenir? Resurrect him and kill him again so that he knows _I_ won for good?”

“You know who Batman was, then!”

“Oh, excuse me, Jervis, I’m thirsty, I can’t bear it anymore! Give me that cup.”

Even though he was not really a tea lover, especially at the Hatter’s table, Joker took advantage of the moment to raise his cup and drink — sip —, taking his time.

The seconds weighed like hours during this silence.

“Tell me!”

Joker rested the cup violently.

“What a tetchy Tetch you are! I’ve just told you that Batman is no longer a danger and you’re still getting nervous!” The alleged hare pushed the teapot towards the hatter. “If you’re too sensitive for black tea, Jervis, have some chamomile instead. You lost your Xanax pills again, didn’t you?”

Even without being directly threatened, annoying the Joker was still a dangerous game and the Hatter apologized, bowing his head so low that the brim of his hat hid his face.

“I am in pain, Jervis. Can you empathize for at least five minutes?! I’m telling you that I killed my best enemy without any witnesses to admire my victory, that I don’t know what to do with his body! Make an effort for me!”

The Hatter crumpled up a cotton towel before using it to grab the burning teapot: if he was busy, he would be more patient.

“But… maybe if you tell me Batman’s identity… maybe it would give me an idea?”

“You think so? Oh, maybe… Yes, it’s even probable, in fact!” Joker raised his cup one last time before refilling it. “Oh no, I don’t know… I’m not even sure you’re going to believe me, Jervis.”

“Why? Why?”

“I was quite surprised myself. But I guess there’s no typical profile when it comes to wearing a bat armor and persecuting criminals after dark. Whatever the answer is, it’ll be surprising. And even a little disappointing.”

The Hatter was stomping around almost like a dog, ready to pounce on the table. If he had been able to wrest the long-awaited answer from a hand movement, he would not have hesitated to dig into the Joker’s throat, even if it meant loosing a few fingers in the process.

“I’m sure I can hear it!”

“Sure! But no, really, you’re going to think I’m making fun of you! I mean, he’s such a famous person, you’ll tell me I’ve seen wrong or that it was a fake Batman.”

After looking at Alice, as if he was suspicious of her presence, Joker stood up and bent down to confide what he had seen. A vision so surprising that it had imprinted itself on his retina, making his gaze almost vague, in contrast to Alice’s gaze which seemed to come alive from second to second.

Joker took a breath and finally shook his head.

“I felt like I knew everything about him, Jervis.” He complained as he stood up. “His demons, his desires, and now that I know who he is, I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

The Hatter was in such a state of impatience that he did not notice the cup that Joker was holding. When the clown passed behind Alice, he brutally spilled it on her head.

Normally, Jervis’ hypnosis was powerful enough to make the pain go away, yet the girl began to scream, her hands clenched on either side of her head, too frightened to touch her scalp burned by the tea.

“No! No! NO!" The Hatter screamed as he jumped on his feet. “Stupid March Hare! This is no way to treat our guests!”

The screams of pain, the anger of the Hatter and the hilarious outbursts of the Joker drowned out the hissing of the batarang that pierced the air. Its flowing whirl reminded the flight of a bat, except for one detail: its wings glowed. The tip of one of them hit the hypnotist’s hat and torn it off, breaking the card with the chip that allowed the Hatter to be connected to Alice’s cell phone.

Thrown against the wall, crucified against the damp wood, the delicate component of Jervis’s trick broke.

The Hatter, furious, stared at Joker who was almost rolling on the table, holding his ribs.

“You lied! YOU LIED! YOU LIED!”

The poor girl looked at them one by one, crying her eyes out, not knowing where she was or if she could still be saved.

One of the windows exploded and Batman’s wings spread out over the Hatter. The bat looked like an eagle, and when his hands fell on Jervis’s shoulders, the small man uttered a mouse-like cry. His body tilted forward and disappeared beneath the predator’s silhouette.

Joker seldom watched this scene from an outside perspective, so, still seated at the table, he applauded the performance, enjoying the moment.

The Hatter had been so frightened that he had fainted; he was lying on the floor, almost curling up.

“You didn’t have to burn that girl!” Batman told Joker off. Because of that, Batman would have to keep an eye on Jervis and make sure the victim was okay.

“You were taking too long, Bats, I had to find a diversion.”

That was wrong, of course. He and Batman had agreed that a handful of minutes would be enough time for the vigilante to reduce the frequency of the Hatter’s chip card — and to do that, he had to be as close as possible — and sneak into the house to immobilize Jervis.

Joker just had to get the Hatter’s attention, without being concerned by the girl.

How could Batman have believed that Joker would have remained well-behaved…

From the screen on his forearm, he sent a request for an ambulance, specifying his coordinates.

“It was only hot water, Batst! This little dove takes many showers! It reminded her of a tea shampoo, that’s all!”

“An 190°F shower?!” Batman snarled. “Don’t make things worse for yourself and stay where you are, Joker, in an hour, you and Jervis will be in your respective cells.”

Joker simulated chills, making his chuckle tremble; the laughter seemed to be produced by his ribs and not by his throat. His dilated pupils hid thoughts, each one crazier than the last, and Batman preferred to take away any opportunity to hurt again from him.

Grabbing him by the wrist, he forced the Joker to get up and turned him over. The dishes on the table began to tinkle.

“Batsy! There’s a young girl watching us!”

“Quiet.”

Batman grabbed his hand and closed the handcuff, squeezing it tighter this time, not worrying about the clown’s blood circulation. Tied up behind his back, his enemy would be better hampered.

“You should invest in zip ties, Batou. And I saw black ones once, really! They will match your costume! I’ll ask Harley to add it to the list for the next time I go shopping.”

To give him no chance, Batman checked how tight the handcuffs were by pulling on the chain and was pleased to see that they did not slip a millimeter.

Joker waddled around, neither upset nor worried. He even tried to put his head on Batman’s shoulder by tilting backwards.

“Am I still allowed to sit in the front, Batsy?”

“I’m tempted to tie you up on the roof.”

“You’re ungrateful: I’ve been well-behaved and I’ve helped you! Jervis had kidnapped a teenager and I’m sure that he undressed her himself, that little vicious man!”

“You killed a bank employee.”

“Bats, you’re exaggerating: that was almost an hour ago!” He protested, hitting the ground with his foot. “And at least, _I_ didn’t run away while your back was turned.”

“What?!”

Batman spun around to see that the Hatter had gotten up and walked, more discreetly than an apparition, to the staircase. Surprised in his flight, the little man had no choice but to run.

“Help is on its way, don't move.” Batman said to the schoolgirl, and he rushed down the corridor that was going up, making the stairs groan.

“Oh! Wait for me, Batsy! I don’t want to miss it!”

Joker crouched down and slid his bound hands under him. Like anyone else, he had been clumsy the first time he had attempted this maneuver, but today he was a true expert. A minute later, he had his arms in front of him instead of behind him.

Before joining the high-speed pursuit, he looked at Alice and barked:

“What a minx! Playing hooky again?!”

She started crying while the clown was leaving, laughing out loud.

The building communicated with the neighboring one, forming a new maze of endless empty corridors. The only traces of life were the scratching of rats and the rustling of flies’ wings. This morning, the daily life of these undesirables was disrupted by a deafening high-speed pursuit.

The footsteps on the aged parquet floor composed a disordered music: the first ones were desperate steps, as fast as those of a chased rabbit, the second ones were determined, as loud as the threat of a storm, while the third ones, farther away, were actually more of a playful leap than a race.

The Joker had had precise plans for that gloomy Thursday, and despite the failure at the bank, something electric in the air seemed to whisper that the day was not wasted. Quite the contrary, in fact! It would be better than trying to take Batman’s life for the umpteenth time.

Jervis, who was much smaller than them, tried to lose his predator by sneaking through the wounds of the building: doors twisted by humidity, collapsed walls, stairs with broken teeth, everything was more reassuring than the threat of the bat’s wings.

Joker, who followed the hunt, was delighted to see how easily Batman, although slowed down, was able to follow the same paths as Jervis.

Raindrops, pushed by the wind, rushed through the broken windows, enough to drown this abandoned past. The three men intruded into these ghost apartments, ignoring, in their speed, the relics of strangers. Pictures on wall or on floor, a stuffed toy, a broken plate. More recent occupants had left only syringes and condoms.

At the bend in a corridor, Joker lost sight of Batman and the Hatter. Suddenly, right in front of him, a red puddle appeared like a stop sign: an almost perfect circle — on condition of ignoring the splashes around — stained the floor.

It was not blood, but wine: the debris of the broken bottle was still lying there, covered with dust.

A frightened scream then resounded and Joker resumed his run, abruptly brought back to reality.

The elbowed corridor was the broken arm of a large living room: the huge windows had grills fitted — the owners had been wealthy and vigilant enough to protect themselves from Gotham’s onslaught —, so the shadows cut across the room and trapped the light.

Still running, Jervis hit the couch and raised a cloud of dust. He breathed in those gray memories and tried to cough them out, but each spit of air stirred up the ghosts that had begun to rise. In these silver reflections, the Hatter thought he saw a huge woman with white hair and eyes. Her arm raised, ready to carry out the sentence.

In the taste of dust, Jervis was certain to recognize the flavor of red wine.

He began to scream and a brutal force wounded him in the back. Batman and the Hatter passed over the sofa, landing in the middle of the living room that had been turned into an arena.

Exasperated by that night that refused to end, the Dark Knight raised his fist, getting warmed up, and threw it against Jervis’s forehead.

The shouts continued, tangled and confused, guiding the Joker who arrived in turn.

The clown moved forward, but did not go beyond the couch.

In amazement, he could see the blows raining down: the rhythm was steady and each thud wrenched a burst of laughter out of him. He knew the song, but this time it was not playing for him.

Something electric in the air tickled him, made him vibrate. Inhabited or not, this tower was planted in the cursed soil of Gotham and was imbued with a morbid essence.

Out of compassion for this enemy, the Joker’s body began to tremble, reacting to these brutalities that were usually intended for him. The ground groaned as well, the slats cracking like bones, but the Joker’s hilarity covered the whining and Batman continued to punch.

Until the floor broke. Until the bodies of the vigilante and the kidnapper fell into the mouth that had just opened.

As a witness to an excellent joke, Joker slapped his thighs, laughing himself to death. Oh, there was no need to say, as long as Batman was here, the show was always thrilling!

Calm seemed to return little by little and, curious, Joker knelt down by the hole to sit on the ledge, letting his legs hang.

A cloud of plaster invaded the floor below, preventing the clown from seeing the rest of the fight.

Was there only a sequel when there was no more sound?

“Batsy? Hey, Batsy! Did you run away? You did?! Would you really leave me here without even having the courtesy to walk me home?!”

Fearless, Joker let himself slide; he did not mind much his handcuffed wrists and he would land as best he could. Anyway, his mental health had experienced more frightening falls than this one, more fatal ones too.

Blessed with extraordinary luck, the criminal’s feet met a smooth surface: this concrete floor, at least, was not in danger of breaking.

“Batman?”

It was dark in this den where night had already returned. The windows had been obstructed by pages from a newspaper from the previous decade. The faces in the black and white photos were dark and so numerous that they formed an austere audience, blocking out the light.

When the dust fell, the light from the room above focused like a spotlight on a surprising scene, and as crazy as he was, Joker doubted for a moment what he saw: the sentry, more sinister than ever, was bent over Tetch’s motionless body. The red head had hit a beam that had resisted their struggle, and his skull had cracked like a dry hazelnut. The blood was already forming a sea of guilt, blackening the concrete.

“Oh…” Joker whispered, bringing his fists to his mouth, making the handcuffs rattle. He concealed the smile that began to grow. “Is he dead?”

Batman did not answer; he was panting because of the effort, because of the fear. His forefinger and middle finger had been stuck under the Mad Hatter’s jaw for several seconds already, still hoping to feel a pulse, no matter how buried it was.

Joker took the opportunity to approach, enjoying a good view of the dark wound. A piece of bone had risen like a reversed drawbridge, leaving the way clear for thoughts to leave the Hatter’s corpse.

“Oh, Batsy… It’s always the same problem with schizophrenics: they aren’t headstrong enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Joyce Mansour is one of my fave French poets, so I wanted to let the French version up there and write a translation only as a side-note:  
> "Men's flaws  
> are my realm  
> Their wounds my sweet cakes  
> I love to chew up their sick thoughts  
> for their vileness shapes my beauty"


	4. Shade #166

**Interlude**

“Joker?…”

No answer.

“Joker?” Ivy called in a more insistent voice.

She could swore he was not breathing anymore. His chin and the tip of his nose rested against the blanket that had been pulled over the bathtub. Before they submerged him, the nurses had run a tub of water over his head and his hair, clean and still green, was now flattened on his round skull. Joker was not thin: he was skinny.

“Joker!”

“Ivy!” He replied, suddenly straightening his face. “Is it really lavender essence or is it synthetic perfume?”

Bath time, therapeutic of course, with Arkham’s two most dangerous patients was always a tricky moment.

The establishment, archaic, made hygiene a matter of violence: the bathroom was an austere room where solid copper baths lined up in two lines. Once inside, the patients were trapped by a watertight sheet that gripped their throats and prevented them from getting out or drowning. Some nurses might take care of the neediest patients themselves, hitting them with soap rather than rubbing them. The water temperature was not always controlled, and long hair was left wet even in the dead of winter, exposing the most fragile patients to terrible colds.

But Joker and Poison Ivy were the only patients to be treated as if they were in a spa.

In fact, a nurse had burned the Joker once, but he was found a week later, trapped in one of the tubs. The bath water had been so hot that his skin was covered with blisters thicker than slugs.

Since then, the Joker has been alone with Ivy — whose nature was already feared — during this daily ritual. Isolated from the other patients, they were the only ones the guards had to look after in this cold room. Yet, the guards did not really complain since the two patients rarely argued. So, for half an hour, the comedian and the botanist used to talk, ignoring the snipers who were threatening them.

Tonight again, two red flies were circling around their faces, ready to turn into a bullet at the slightest suspicious movement.

The Joker had no intention of escaping: Batman had brought him back to Arkham two days earlier and he was planning to rest here for a while before escaping again. Ivy had been here longer: her last escape, unsurprisingly, coincided with a plan from the mayor to replace a park with a school. Otherwise, her escapes were much less punctual: as long as her precious plants were safe, Ivy remained quiet.

“So? Do you recognize one of your children or is it chemical?”

“It’s lavender essence.” Ivy confirmed. Immersed up to her throat, her whole body was absorbing the particles of this plant. It was a relaxing oil — were they the only ones who could enjoy this? — but without any real effect on Ivy. By the way, she doubted that the Joker himself was sensitive to it.

“Joker, I wanted to talk to you about something. Harley asked me not to say anything, but… Two months ago, she and I slept together.”

“Mh, the little minx has a soft spot for pretty mouths.”

The Joker’s hands played with the water, making it splash and giggle. His reaction surprised Ivy.

After spending several pleasant hours together at the back of a garden, Harley had begged Ivy not to tell a word to her puddin’ about what they had done. She was terrified that the Joker would push her away and stop talking to her.

In fact, it seamed he did not care at all.

“… the more we talk, the more I suspect you really don’t care about her.”

“How dare you?!” He roared suddenly. The shooter who had him in his sights had his finger on the trigger, sweating profusely. But the Joker regained his calm, once again victim of his changing mood. “You’re mad at me when I treat her badly, but if I don’t get angry, you’re implying that she doesn’t matter!”

“She thought you’d be angry with her.”

“We’ve been together for years, Harley and I, I can’t blame her for a little crush!”

“I’m not just a little crush.” Ivy replied. Her green cheeks had gotten darker. After a silence, she added: “But you’re right, there’s no need to get angry over a crush. Harley would probably feel the same if you end up having an affair with Batman.”

“Batman?! That loony dressed as a bat who has nothing to do but chase me down and send me back to Sharpie’s madhouse?!”

He was getting angry again, but his resentment was genuine this time. In silence, Ivy compared him to a man frustrated, rejected by a conquest.

“You spend all your time trying to get Batman’s attention.”

“It’s _Batman_ who keeps snooping around in my stuff! He’s always there, lurking in the shadows like a vampire. He might be watching me right now! Maybe he’s the guy holding the sniper! Hey, Batsy! Are you there?!” Smacking could be heard under the blanket as Joker moved, looking around. The evocation of his enemy always made him talkative and Ivy remained silence. “As soon as I start any plan, Batman gets in my way. I haven’t even finished to gather the elements for a bomb and he’s already breaking my workshop window! And then, he punches me! I wonder if I’ve become an idée fixe in his sick mind…”

“Are you going to pretend he isn’t an idée fixe in _yours_? Admit it, Joker, you’re obsessed with Batman. Harley’s a lot less important than he is.”

Joker shook his head: Ivy compared the incomparable. She resumed nevertheless:

“Harvey is obsessed with duality and his coin that represents destiny, Freeze seeks revenge for what happened to him and his wife, all have a personal reason. But what about you? All your plans concern him. Even Catwoman fulfills her contracts without telling Batman about it!”

“I beg your pardon, Ivy? I’m a bit lost: were you a biologist or a psychiatrist ? It seemed to me that it was Harley…”

“I’m not here to judge, Joker. Batman is a man who has a… certain allure.” It was a secret, but they also had their little affair in a backyard, and Ivy had not used her seductive hormones _that much_. She threw her head back, her hair snaking towards the edge of the bathtub. “After all this time, you’ve had every opportunity to kill him, Joker, and yet Batman’s still alive. I’m convinced of one thing, Joker: you won’t kill Batman before you’ve had a chance to kiss him at least once. You’re even more likely to kill one of us before you kill Batman, because that’s never going to happen.”

Joker started laughing out loud. He would not have reacted better if Ivy had told him a good joke. The clown would have liked to applaud, but the water and the sheet were preventing him to do so. At least he could confess to Ivy:

“You know what I’ve always liked about you, Ivy? Your insight and your lipstick.”

“… now I think about it, Joker, maybe I can help you.”

**Chapter 4 – Shade #166**

« Take me now, baby, here as I am

Pull me close, try and understand

Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe

Love is a banquet on which we feed

Come on now try and understand

The way I feel when I’m in your hands

Take my hand, come undercover

They can’t hurt you now

Can’t hurt you now, can’t hurt you now

Because the night belongs to lovers

Because the night belongs to lust »

Patty Smith _– Because the Night_

Apotemnophilia – an overwhelming or obsessive desire to have one or more healthy body parts and especially a limb removed by amputation.

Like a child, Batman encircled the blood pool with his hands and brought it closer to the Hatter’s head. He no longer knew what he was doing, and whatever he decided, the reality he was looking at did not change: Jervis Tetch was dead.

The surprising scene made Joker jubilant: he was jumping around, applauding.

“Bats! Bats! You’ve done it!” He climbed over the rubble and curled up against the Dark Knight, cheek to cheek, admiring the accident. “You finally did it!”

Batman suddenly stood up to push the Joker back and knocked him to the ground, but he immediately regretted his gesture: what if the clown also broke his skull and died next?

But finally, the Joker, lying in the dust, began to laugh, still in great shape.

“Oh, Batsy, what a morning!”

“It was an accident!”

“All right, Batsy! All right! All right! In concrete terms, it was an accident! But an accident that _you_ caused! If you hadn’t jumped on Jervis like you did, the ground wouldn’t have collapsed!”

Joker giggled and giggled endlessly, but Batman was no longer in the mood to get angry.

He turned his back on the poor man’s body; if he had seen him for one more second, he would have been sick. With a groan, he brought his fists to his temples, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

He had not killed Jervis Tetch, yet he was responsible for his death. The Joker was right: if he had not attacked the Hatter like he did, the ground would not have collapsed.

Jervis Tetch was a pedophile and a drug addict who suffered from hallucinations, he was also a schizophrenic: he needed appropriate treatment and doctors to listen to him. Sending him back to Arkham Asylum was not only a punishment, it was also giving him the chance to finally be cured. But the floor had broken, the fall had been rapid and fatal, taking all the Hatter’s chances away.

It was more than ten o’clock outside, and in the building, it was still dark.

Joker straightened up, his smile glowing in the shadows, wet with lipstick:

“What are you going to do, Batsy?”

For a moment, for answering this question, Bruce Wayne was tempted to take off his cowl and throw it on the floor. His fault was too great and he could not be the Knight of Gotham any longer after what he had just done. His rule had been broken.

As if he was asking for forgiveness, he knelt on the ground, almost collapsing in silence and shame.

In front of him, the madman laughed again, breaking the solemnity of the moment.

“Come on, Batsy, why the long face?”

He got up at last and dusted his pants. The thin cloud that fell could vaguely remind the smoke used in old movies to welcome the devil. And it was with the same devilish elegance that the Joker approached his enemy.

“What are you going to do? Don’t tell me you’re going to go home and put your costume away for good! Come on, Batsy, you know what people say! ‘Kill all pedophiles, they’re monsters, no justice for them!’, no one will blame you! Stay!”

It was not, however, the intention of the vigilante who got up and walked away from the rubble, from the Hatter’s corpse. The paper-covered windows concealed Gotham, turning the crime scene into a sanctuary. After a silence, Batman then turned to Joker :

“I’m taking you back to Arkham. This is the last time.”

He would confess to Gordon that he was responsible for Tetch’s death, and they would advise, along with Alfred and Barbara, what to do about ‘Batman’: Bruce Wayne could reveal his identity — finally putting Gordon in confidence — and be condemned, or Gotham would never know, but Batman would never reappear again.

“You can’t do that.” The Joker replied quickly. “What are you going to do next?! Put on slippers and a bathrobe so you could ruminate in your batbasement?! Tell Jim-Jim you made your first professional blunder and ask to go to jail? Look at Harley, she made one hell of a blunder, a huge one, and she hasn’t been this happy and free since!”

“You won’t see me again, Joker.”

Suddenly, the clown looked as pale as the faces printed on the newspapers. Despite the lipstick that stretched in a crescent moon, his mouth no longer smiled. In fact, it was turning down.

It was perhaps the worst thing he had ever heard.

“I should’ve known you were going to retire, Bats. I’ve always wanted us to kill each other, a fight to death between us and no other _degenerate_. You would’ve broken your rule and I would’ve done my best show! You wouldn’t have had to mope around like a depressed teen and I wouldn’t have had to think about my next work to outperform your death. Everything would have been _perfect_.”

If the Hatter’s head had been closer, Joker would have kicked it in rage.

He finally moved towards Batman.

“If you don’t turn yourself in, you’ll stay anonymous and disappear into Gotham. I might kill you in an explosion one day, or when I’ll poison the city’s water tank for the twenty-second time, but I’ll never know about it. You’ll be near and far away at the same time. And I can’t stand it! The idea is unbearable!”

Batman stared at the face that terrified Gotham for many years. He had known it himself for so long: that smile that widened when the rest of the world cried; those teeth that bit when victims waited for an admission of regret. Without Batman, Joker would only need a few weeks to turn Gotham into a carnival of horror.

But still…

“People will know that I killed Jervis, even if it was an accident. If I killed once, then I would have to kill again.”

But he refused to do so. Despite the death of the Hatter, he would not kill the Joker. He would not kill Two-Face, Black Mask, Penguin, Harley Quinn, Enigma, or anyone else. Jervis would be the only exception, but how would he make Gotham and Commissioner Gordon understand this? How can he justify his desire to spare the Joker?

No, he had to retire. He had to disappear.

“So you’re really going to leave me alone? You’ll stay home at night when I’ll kill hundreds of citizens?”

“Without me, Arkham’s team will be more vigilant and you won’t be able to get away as easily as before.”

It was said without much conviction and Joker burst out laughing. And as he laughed, he thought about a solution.

“You know, Bats, I’m sure of one thing right now: of all your enemies, I’m certainly the only one who would keep your identity a secret. If I knew it, of course!”

“If you’re going to ask me who I am so you can kill me later, you’re wasting your…”

“Nah, I’ll let you with that precious secret of yours. But do you know why your identity would be safe with me? Because revealing it to the city wouldn’t do me any good. If I said, ‘hey, Batman’s actually your neighbor, the one who listens to dark metal as loud as possible every morning’, you’d retire, you’d have to disappear, maybe even leave Gotham for good! And what would I do? I’d plot again for another bomb on a ship or a massacre in a movie theater knowing that you wouldn’t be there. Where would the fun be?! Why ruin our relationship?” His hands grazed Batman’s hard face. “There are secrets that Gotham doesn’t need to know, Bats, especially if we can keep our little routine. So use me!”

Unable to understand, or perhaps too worried to get what his enemy was implying, the vigilante backed away.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re the only ones here! No one will ever know the truth, no one will ever believe that the so great Dark Knight of Gotham killed the poor little Hatter… especially if _I_ was around. Let me be the criminal, that role suits me better. Let me make this unfortunate accident my very own. I’m your joker, Bats!”

“If you do that, Joker, the other inmates will be angry with you.”

“They are already angry at me for this or that, for what I remember!” Joker screamed with laughter as he put his hands on the Knight’s shoulders. The chain of handcuffs underlined Batman’s throat. “Let’s do what we always do: hit me, beat me up, tell the G.C.P.D. that you caught me but unfortunately you couldn’t do anything to save Jervis… Everyone will believe this scenario and nothing will change! You’ll still be Batman, I’ll still be the Joker and we’ll keep fighting each other!”

The solution was credible, yes, but Batman shook his head. He could not bring himself to do it: in addition to getting rid of responsibility for Jervis’ death, saying yes meant he accepted the Joker’s help. The day might come when this maniac would blackmail him or ask him for a favor, taking advantage of the situation. How could this pact really protect Gotham?

Was Batman playing with a joker or with the Devil in this game?

“What do you get in return?”

“Did you even listen?! You, Batsy. It’s obvious, but you’re not listening, you big deaf rock. Oh wait, I understand better why Harley gets angry when she tells me that I don’t listen to her…”

As if preparing for a performance, Joker tightened his bow tie, combed his hair back and applied a new coat of lipstick. Now he was smiling again.

“I’m the bad guy once again and we continue our hectic lives. Or you can accuse yourself, put the suit in your batcloset and I do a hell of a one-man show, the best you’ll never seen. What’s it gonna be? Your choice, Bats. Are you really going to let me go and turn Gotham into a nightmare? You know what happens when I’m in a bad mood… I _outperform_.”

He was insane. Deeply insane. This was Batman’s first thought. However, this last argument managed to convince him: Batman was the only one who was not afraid of the Joker, the only one who could contain him, the only one who could stop him.

It was perhaps the only time in his life that he could trust the Joker.

The Joker noticed the black shoulders straightening up so he gloated:

“Back to work, Batsy. Hit me! Be the famous vigilante like you’ve always been, beat the bad guy, make it realistic!”

The clown cracked his wrists and neck, then bowed to Batman, inviting him to do the first move of their dance.

It began with a punch in the clown’s jaw, which swung back to the floor. Batman threw himself forward and dominated him, hitting and hitting again, aiming at the ribs, aiming at the flanks.

Joker endured the blows, noting that his enemy held his anger back. Perhaps Batman was afraid to kill him too? Would his death be more unbearable than that of the Mad Hatter? Oh yes, Joker liked to think so.

The clown raised his chin, offering his throat, and Batman placed his hands on it, obeying to habits. Normally, he would strangle Joker to make him shut, to trap the last laugh in his windpipe. This time it was different. The embrace was less aggressive. The fingers lacked strength and conviction.

A weakness that allowed the Joker to sneer:

“Nothing will change, Batsy… Everything will be all right.”

Suddenly, Joker put his hands behind Batman’s head and pressed the chain of the handcuffs against the back of his enemy’s neck. His strength, enhanced by the effect of surprise, allowed him to bring Batman’s face closer to his own.

“What are you… ?”

Joker kissed him, still pressing the chain, his fists shaking under the effort so that the bat would not fly away too soon. Their teeth would have knocked together as their mouths were so tightly pressed together.

Batman felt his right leg blocked by the Joker’s leg, almost twisted around it like a snake.

On the edge of his lips, Batman was sure to recognize a flowery taste. A strange feeling made him relax his muscles. His tongue tried to dig into memories, curious, but it was the madness he was committing that gave him the answer.

“Ivy?!” Batman moved aside abruptly, letting the metal rings dig into the back of his neck.

Joker was hilarious: Poison Ivy’s gift had had a far more spectacular effect than he had hoped for.

“It was supposed to be a real goodbye kiss, Bats: at the bank, I lured you to a safe to knock you out and lock you in, all of that thanks to this marvelous gift Ivy gave me!”

This lipstick would have been the ultimate surprise for the Dark Knight, and it would have added a dramatic touch, matching the clown’s taste.

“You could have died for good this morning if the Hatter hadn’t changed my plans.” Joker stroked the head of the drugged bat; his muscles must have been soft as cotton now, and the shock surely added to the torpor. “But I don’t regret it, Bats. What you did today? What I witnessed? I haven’t been this happy in a long time! Your golden rule finally broken!”

Their struggle had turned into an embrace. The poison seduced with a surprising violence and Batman resisted the urge to kiss his enemy again, so he put his head on the Joker’s shoulder to turn his face away.

The clown tried to push him away to stand up:

“Change of program, honey: I’m going to take the blame for Jervis’ death, but I’m not going to let you take me back to Arkham. They’ll find you knocked out, helpless, but think of the staging: by being unconscious, you were giving me the chance to kill the Hatter. There was nothing you could do against me!”

“You won’t run away, Joker.”

His arms had just imprisoned the Joker’s chest, hugging him like a lover. Finally a physical reaction that suited him, in accordance with his will not to let the maniac escape.

“You know I will.” The clown sneered, fighting against the lack of air. It was a new way to be deprived of oxygen. “But with regret, Batou. With regret!”

The vigilante refused to release him; Batman’s body weighed on his and he began to lose patience.

“Hell, Bats! It was very nice, sure, but I can’t stay! Harley’s going to ask me where I was. And imagine what the newspapers will say if they catch us in this position!”

Batman swung to the side and placed his arms so that he could see the screen on his gauntlet. A few presses were enough to send his geographic coordinates to Gordon.

“If I’d known you were so clingy, Bats, I would have…”

Batman pinned him down again, silencing him. His embrace was as strong as the bars of a cage. Before losing consciousness, he threw his head back and struck the Joker’s forehead with a hard blow.

“You… stay…”

Not knowing whether he had managed to knock the Joker out or not, Batman passed out before finishing his sentence.

Lipsticks were arranged in a precise order to unfold a rainbow of red, purple, pink and beige tones. On this more classic display at least, because the one behind it offered more whimsical shades with purple, blue or black.

Their velvety scent evoked femininity and elegance…

“May I help you, Mr. Wayne?”

A saleswoman in impeccable suit approached; a very pretty girl with a tight bun and straight bangs.

“I’m not sure about the color.” Bruce was lying. In fact, he was not thinking about the shade or the brand: he was hesitant about _taking a gift_.

Every time he swallowed his saliva, he felt he could taste a bit of sap.

The woman hid a little smile: the newspapers had not yet talked about a new conquest of the popular Bruce Wayne, so she imagined she was gleaning gossip before the press.

It was a few minutes after 8 p.m. and the store would close in about 20 minutes, just enough time for the last of the latecomers — husbands who had forgotten a birthday present, for the most of them — to pay for their purchases.

The idea of Bruce Wayne buying a lipstick at full tilt before a date was quite amusing.

“The best would be to choose according to the lady’s skin tone, which is…?”

“Pale. _Very_ pale.”

“There are some coral shades to enhance the complexion, or dark reds, but only if she’s skilled for makeup.”

“She has… a very personal style.”

_Please, if she asks about the hair color, I swear I’ll…_

Bruce was trying to be cool, but one more question and he would start to lose his patience.

Fatigue was pounding on the back of his forehead and dark circles had begun to appear under his eyes.

If he had been able to sleep for a few hours, he had not been able to rest, despite Alfred’s support.

They had only exchanged a few words — the butler knew the last Wayne well enough to know how reserved he was —, knowing that they would talk about it later, and Bruce had fallen asleep in the batcave chair, ignoring Alfred’s advice to go upstairs and sleep in a real bed.

Alfred had interpreted this neglect as some sort of self-punishment, and he could not make Bruce renounce these ascetic habits, especially since they made the knight feel as though he was paying his debts.

While Batman was sleeping, Jim Gordon had left a voice message: Jervis Tetch had been taken to the morgue, while the Joker had been hospitalized. There was nothing serious, but after what the maniac had done, a hasty return to Arkham would have been dangerous.

This message proved that the commissioner had not doubted the clown’s guilt for a single moment, even before hearing the made-up versions.

However, the end of the message had left Bruce rather puzzled: the Joker wanted to talk to Batman, but ‘he was missing an accessory to be presentable and _harmless_ ’. These were the Joker’s exact words, and the Commissioner hoped that Batman would understand their meaning.

Luckily, he did.

The saleswoman showed him a sovereign, dark hue, very close to the bloodstain that had formed under the Hatter’s cracked skull.

“This one is called… ‘midnight ruby’.”

The label indicated number 166 — much less poetic.

Bruce hesitated to look at it. Was it really important?

After all, a lipstick was a paltry gift, and as long as it was harmless, Bruce could make the effort. He had now a debt as heavy as the world on his shoulders: his enemy was doing him a favor, in his very own way of course.

Bruce would never have thought that his relationship with the Joker could have been more complicated, and yet…

Finally, he reluctantly assured the young woman that this hue would suit the ‘lady’ very well.

In front of the counter, Bruce tried to keep a calm attitude. The lipstick, in its black packaging, disappeared in a small glossy paper bag. Full of good intentions, the saleswoman even decorated the handle with a red ribbon. So much effort while there was still a chance that the lipstick would get stuck deep in the clown’s throat if he laughed too much…

It was almost midnight. Normally, visits were no longer allowed, but in the case of the Joker, no visits were allowed anyway. At least, courtesy visits.

However, Batman was an exception and the nurse on duty knew Commissioner Gordon’s order: when the masked vigilante arrived, she could leave him with the prisoner.

But even if she was expecting the bat’s visit, the nurse barely uttered a cry of surprise when the figure appeared in the corridor. The ghosts were traditionally white, but this one seemed to have fallen from the night sky.

A grim reaper crowned with spikes and dressed in a cape that imitated a shroud.

The nurse shook her head to chase away these ideas and put down her book, Poe’s short novels, before getting up and greeting the visitor.

“Good evening, Batman. The Joker, uh… made a rather strange request…”

“I know. And I have what he asked for.”

He handed the bag with the red ribbon to the nurse who did not know what to do with it.

“Give it to him, he’ll understand. I’ll stand on the doorstep, don’t worry: I’ll be here if he tries to attack you.”

The nurse swallowed and turned away. She typed in the eight-digit code and passed her badge.

The space here was incredibly cramped, allowing room only for a bed behind a curtain, and yet Batman understood that the nurse felt like she was crossing a desert.

A light source projected its ghostly rays across the curtain, and from the color, the neon light seemed as sick as tonight’s moon.

His back pressed against the door, the sentry was waiting. He heard a swarm of murmurs, a soft muddle of spectres whispering in every corner of the room, and they were interrupted only by a small laugh.

It was not the Joker who had laughed; it was the nurse.

When she reappeared right after, she was still livid, but this time, it was because of the green light.

“Batman? You may come now. I’ll be in the corridor if you need he… I mean, well, if you need anything.” The nurse mumbled before leaving.

Then the two enemies were alone.

The Joker was lying on his hospital bed, held still by straps. The neon light above him brought some sort of glaucous chiaroscuro, plunging the clown’s face into darkness as he bent his neck. He no longer had his purple suit, just the green hospital pajamas that were far too large for his skinny build. The V-neck gave a glimpse of his white torso, while the short sleeves exposed his slim arms. His body seemed to be a composition of bones and tendons.

Batman’s silhouette still remained in the shadows at the back of the room.

“He he he he… There he is! The Dark Knight of Gotham!”

His voice was hoarse and his laughter was more reminiscent of pain than joy, but Joker was tried his best to look good for Batman.

His lips were red, shade #166, ‘midnight ruby’.

“How did you manage put the make up” Batman asked, surprised: the Joker’s wrists were held by three straps on each arm.

“That’s my secret, Bats. But come closer, don’t be afraid!… My throat’s a little sore, I wouldn’t want to make it worse.” The shadow slipped, passing in front of the machines. “Hey, you didn’t take me for a fool about the gift! Does Talia have the same one? Do you go to the same store for her? I know: one isn’t supposed to ask the price of a gift, but I’m sure you’ve picked something quite expensive.”

The shadow reached the bed, passing like a wave.

The translucent neon light made the Joker’s hair bright and acid green. A bump had begun to deform the criminal forehead — the blow had been violent. The smile was, as usual, biting. Batman had often wondered whether all the teeth were fake or whether some were still real.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me, Batsy?”

“What do you want to hear, Joker?”

“A bit of gratitude! Even the very least you’re capable of. The gift is a start, but all you had to do was to respond to my request.” The clown tried to straighten himself up, twisting himself in his bindings. “After all, I sacrificed myself for you.”

“Sacrificed?! You did nothing but…” _acting_ _as usual_ , that was what Batman had wanted to say, but it was not true. No one would doubt that the Joker was responsible for the death of the Hatter, no one would doubt the righteousness of the Knight. Everything went back to normal, but it was wrong. Today, Batman had committed a crime. Accident or not, his code had been broken when the Mad Hatter’s skull cracked. Had it not been for the Joker’s intervention, all of Gotham might have learned the true identity of the Dark Knight at that time. Batman sighed and replied: “I still wonder why you did that.”

“Because it’s worth it. I knew it and I know it.”

The clown wanted the death of Batman, not the arrest and imprisonment of whoever was hiding under that mask: he had confessed it to the vigilante and was more honest than ever. Why his enemy would never understand something that simple?

Joker managed to turn his hand as if to offer it, palm facing the sky.

“For me, you were beautiful, Batman.”

The sentry preferred not to react. The clown’s smile was softer than usual, his voice less crazy.

“It’s the city, Bats, it’s Gotham! It bewitches, it pushes to extremes, I know a lot about it…”

“I already know your Ace Chemicals story, Joker. No need to blame Gotham to justify who you are.”

“No, no, I take full responsibility for my crimes, Bats, I’m not ashamed of it. But even you can’t deny it: Gotham is primarily responsible for everything that happens on its streets. It created me, it created you. Look: why did the Hatter die? Because the ground collapsed. The floor of a shabby building! And there are plenty of buildings like that in all Gotham! Even _you_ can’t stop Gotham from making ghosts.”

The expression reminded Batman of the murmurs he had heard earlier. It was ridiculous.

“Gotham has an influence that you can’t fight. In the end, you didn’t break your golden rule because of me, but because of this city.”

Batman did not know if it was a delusion. Had the nurses given something to the Joker? An overdose of morphine?

“It’s awful, isn't it?”

“What’s awful?”

“Your worst enemy knows your worst secret.”

The Knight lowered his head, surrendering.

“Hey, Bats.”

“What?”

“Tonight, when you’ll be alone in your cave, thinking about what happened, moping… think of me. Think of the joy I feel thanks to you. Think about how much I loved you today.”

A shiver crawled under the armor, from the neck to the kidneys. Receiving the Joker’s compassion was not comforting, yet he had acted as a friend.

In a very personal way, that is to say. Even unhealthy. But as a friend.

When Bruce explained the Joker’s proposal to Alfred, the butler did not know what to think about it. As a rational person, Alfred had never tried to understand the Joker’s acts, but deep down, Bruce knew it: the old man had been relieved. Thanks to this enemy, Batman would remain the protector of Gotham.

Bruce would have liked to be less intransigent, just like Alfred.

“I just want to hear one thing, Batman.”

“That I’m grateful for what you did?”

“Oh no, I already know that you are. No, I’d like you to say that we’re the same. You and I.” He tried to laugh. “You’re the yin to my yang. Or the yang to my yin, I’m not picky, but say that we complete each other. Say that you need me as much as I need you. I want to hear it.”

Before today, Batman would have been able to contradict him right away with his voice of steel, sure of having no connection with his lifelong enemy. But tonight, he could no longer have that assurance, for he could no longer condemn the Joker.

Had his relationship with the Joker changed? Not at all. In fact, this secret had simply strengthened a relationship that already existed.

Horrified, Batman preferred to stand up without answering. In his movement, however, he had touched the Joker’s hand, touching the lines of life, heart and mind.

The clown laughed and, certain that his accomplice had voluntarily touched him, murmured:

“I knew you were going to agree with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank, once again, the many French reads who read and reviewed this story during Summer, but I also thank dawngloaming and twoomy for their kindness in their comments. ♥


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